


Of Leaf and Stone

by Jazzy_Kandra



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-12 23:27:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28893639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jazzy_Kandra/pseuds/Jazzy_Kandra
Summary: Many are the love stories that end in heartbreak in the lands of Arda...
Relationships: Celeborn/Galadriel | Artanis, Galadriel | Artanis & Gimli (Son of Glóin), Gandalf | Mithrandir & Gimli (Son of Glóin), Gandalf | Mithrandir & Legolas Greenleaf, Gimli (Son of Glóin) & Legolas Greenleaf
Kudos: 7





	Of Leaf and Stone

An odd pair walked along a high cliff overlooking a distant sea covered in a thick mist at dawn. One hobbled along, back bent with age, arm looped around the waist of his companion for support as much as friendship. The other stood as tall and straight as a young tree, no grey had touched his golden locks, no wrinkles mark his noble brow, the only sign that he was not quite as young as he first appeared was the hint of age in silver eyes. Even then, he was far more young than many of the eldest of his kind that had settled here on fair Tol Eressëa. At times nearly a youth he seemed, though Legolas had lived more than a handful of centuries.

_ Yet how will this lad fair when I am gone? _

That question had oft echoed in his head of late, for Gimli son of Gloin knew the truth, unspoken and not dared considered. His bones ached with each step, his mind was filled with fog, and the coughing he had suffered of late had started producing more than just phlegm. He did not know when his time might come, tomorrow or a month from now, but he did know it approached on swift wings. Just as the hobbits Bilbo, Frodo, and Samwise Gamgee had fallen asleep one final time in their warm holes underground, so too would Gimli not awaken one morning from his bed. It was inevitable, the fate from which all mortals must partake, but Legolas…

That elf yet hung onto the idea that they both had a tomorrow, never releasing it from his grasp. Another sunrise when eyes would open and life would spring. The lad was prone to hope as much as Gimli was prone to doubt, for such was the nature of the Greenleaf.

"...and in two days, Lady Galadriel has invited us both to celebrate the coming winter solstice in her house," said Legolas, in a tone which implied he was relaying the list of invites that often found their way to his desk, despite that he was neither Prince of Greenwood nor the Elf-lord of Ithilien in the Undying Lands. Of course, they were both members of the Fellowship, and elves, Gimli had noticed after decades of living amongst the fair folk, clung to the past like a drowning man might cling to a rope. Thus an elf's past achievements mattered far more than his current status, so much for the  _ rest  _ his friend had hoped for upon arriving in these lands. "I think this last begs your attention, friend Gimli, though I know it is a long way from home."

They had come to live in a small village in the woodlands far to the south of the elven haven where most of the Noldor resided, living among those Sindar that had come from Greenwood and yet missed the leaves and boroughs of their old forest home. Their king and queen lived not among them, for still did the royal pair linger in their halls of trees and ancient stone. Thus, while not a prince any longer, Legolas had found himself as the Lord of these elves once more, though they only numbered a few hundred strong.

"Indeed," said Gimli with a sigh, exhausted though they had only just set out on their morning stroll. "I have not seen the fair lady for too many a year now." He sat down on one of the stones overlooking the sea, the deep roar of distant waves the only sign it was, indeed, below the mists today. "Let me catch my breath, lad."

The elf sat down beside him, crossing his legs. "It was worded as a request," he said, a hint of laughter in his voice. “I need not tell you more, I should think.”

"One does not refuse the demands of the Sun to rise at dawn," replied Gimli, a smile touching his lips. He reached for the golden locket held on a leather chain around his neck. "If we are to make it on time we will need to ready the carriage to leave after the midday meal…"

For a brief moment, the elf wrinkled his nose in disgust. Ah, yes, Legolas would much rather ride bareback with him through the wilderness than take the carriage, but such things were impossible now. Gimli could no longer ride a horse with his bad back, and his legs were no longer strong enough to hold onto its franks either. Thus, a carriage would have to do.

"You could always ride alongside as you have done in the past."

"Ah, yes, that would mean I could, at long last, take a break from your dreadful company," said the elf. "But if I was to do so, who would keep you from nodding off and rolling downhill into the inevitable mud puddle?"

Gimli chuckled. "I would not roll off, I have grown much too heavy to be jostled so, let alone bounce, lad." He gave his now large belly a good pat. The elf had never once commented on his increased girth, but after Gimli shuffled inside his pocket and took out his pipe...

"Or stop you from lighting the carriage aflame with that pipe you yet smoke," said Legolas with a huff, glaring at the pipe in Gimli's hands. "Do not dare."

"As I recall, it was Frodo who set fire to the last carriage."

"Be that as it may," replied Legolas, his eyes lit with a strange light which beset the mirth that tugged at their corners. "Do not think I will let you ride in the carriage alone. I am with you."

There was another promise beneath those words. A whisper that he would watch over Gimli, for he had never chosen to ride in the carriage before. Legolas squeezed his thick hand with long, slender fingers, and smiled as the sun arose and melted the mists of dawn. The sea, ever-roaring, sang the refrain.

***

Much to the relief of Gimli, Gloin's son, it was not her residence in Avallónë that they came to as the sun began to set on the second day of their travels, but the villa of Lady Galadriel in the small grove of white mallorn trees just outside the port city. Crowned with gold leafs as they were each winter, elf and dwarf passed from green fields to sun dappled memories beneath the great mallorn trees, once again walking along ancient paths marked only by elven elanor in distant lands across the sea. When the elf had sung to the Fellowship of Nimrodel and Amroth on the banks of the river that bore her name. When man and hobbit ate with them under tree and found unity in sorrow, and where he, a dwarf, found his heart enraptured by the Lady of the Wood, her glory ever he would proclaim.

As long as his life would last, that was. They found her within a pavilion high up in the mighty boughs of the trees, not unlike the talan where they had met her long ago, far across the sea. Her hair was gold and strewn with pearls and blossoms white, held back with a simple circlet of silver and starlight. And beside her, to their astonishment, stood one that neither elf nor dwarf had heard returned. Silver haired and not as dour as Gimli recalled, he saw a smile cross the face of Celeborn as the dwarf raised his head after paying proper obeisance.

"Greetings, Legolas and Gimli son of Gloin, several seasons has it been since last I laid eyes on you and glad am I to see you both well…"

The words, to Gimli, faded, as a coughing fit overtook him, his legs starting to tremble. Once it subsided, and he caught the grey blood-tinged phlegm in his handkerchief, Gimli felt two pairs of ancient eyes borrow into him with silent intensity. Legolas, without a word, had wrapped an arm around his waist, providing him the strength to stand.

"It is a long stair," spoke Gimli, once he caught his breath and his legs grew more sturdy beneath him. Legolas did not release his grip, however. "I am as well as one can expect after nearly two centuries in these Undying Lands."

He had lived longer, he knew, than any dwarf had except for very the first of his kind. These lands had blessed the hobbits with far longer lives than their kin as well. A gift, the elves oft opined, for what the three had done for all of Arda, though the last of the hobbits had fallen asleep nearly a hundred years ago, now.

"I see," said Celeborn, then turned his gaze to Legolas. "I have words to share with you, Legolas Thranduilion, of your home and kin. Would you accompany me?"

"Certainly Gimli can hear them as well..." He paused, noting, perhaps for the first time, that the Lady had yet to speak. "Will you be well on your own?"

If he were younger, he would have bluntly declared yes. That the elf did not need to be so protective and utterly foolish. That Legolas would have no need to knit his forehead so with worry, but the elf did, and Gimli could not so easily deny his concern.

"Do you think I would let him fall so easily?" asked the Lady Galadriel, who had now come to his side and intertwined her fingers in his own. A smile light, yet harsh, had touched her lips. "Go, Legolas, fear not. You have no need to fear for his safety in my presence."

She nodded as both Celeborn and Legolas left the pavilion and guided the dwarf to a small loft where a pair of lean couches resided, and wine and fine food was brought to the table by servants who quickly disappeared into the trees. They were alone, just as the Lady had planned, no doubt. After living so long among the elves, he had learned to detect such things. Schemes, like wisdom, were the finest craft of the Lady of the Golden Wood.

"Have you told him?" she asked after they had dined and conversed long into the evening.

He took a long sip of his wine. "I dare not."

She, for a moment lifted her head, looking up at the woods around them, her gaze distant and full of countless stars. "Once, I thought the same. Long ago when both I and Celeborn dwelt deep in Thingol's realm, within the thousand caves which your kin of old did build."

"They could not compare to your beauty,” said Gimli. “I need not see them to know this as the greatest truth."

She laughed, the song of first daylight in her voice, but a hint of sadness was there now as well. Alike to a grey morning, thought he. "I was also afraid to tell him, for he knew what I had done." With fair hands, she returned her goblet of wine to the table, untouched yet.

He smiled, but doubted her words. He could not invision the Lady afraid of anything in all Arda or stars above, for what did the dawn have to fear? Least of all such a trifle thing as this. Even after all the songs and stories he had heard in Tol Eressëa of the Elder Days, and what the Lady had done...

"I am not sure I understand."

"Do you love him?"

The words, spoke so bluntly, opened his eyes. So, she knew...of course she would. Had he really thought himself truly clever enough to hide the truth from one so wise? How arrogant indeed.

"My Lady Galadriel, it is late," began he, the sun had set on them long ago. "Does it matter?"

The only answer he received was tears in starlit eyes.

***

They supped with the Lady and Lord that night, and under the stars and half-moon's light, sang songs of old and spoke tales of new. It was long before the dwarf sought his bed, and past noon when he awoke the next day. When it came to pass that elven prince and dwarven lord were to leave the mallorn grove, the Lady of the Wood came herself, alone, to the carriage and bid them farewell.

It was, Gimli felt, likely the last time he would see the Sun rise. His heart twisted in his chest at that thought. He had so loved the dawn…

That he could tell when his night would fall. He looked at the elf beside him and gave him a sad, even bitter smile.

"I am with you," said Legolas, again, hands clasping his own. "Rest, friend Gimli, I will wake you when we reach home once more."

He gave a nod, and let himself fall into a sea without birdsong above or dreams below.

***

Rain greeted them at dawn the next day, cold and chill, and the dwarf's raspy breaths were the only sign he yet lived. Legolas, friend to many a mortal man, hobbit, and dwarf, had grown familiar with the signs of death and mortality. 

A man upon a white horse road up to the carriage just as the pair arrived at their own villa at long last. Mithrandir it was, clothed in greys and hood drawn up to shield his silver head from the still, cold rain. He wore, as was often his wrought, the same aspect he had donned longest in Arda, for that was the guise he loved best. Thus, it was Gandalf the Grey who greeted them, his gaze hidden in shadows under his hood.

“It is time, then?” asked Legolas, his companion did not stir, though he rested a hand on the old dwarf's head.

“It is,” answered Mithrandir. "Let us bring our dear friend inside, first, however."

They laid Gimli down in his bed, and there, waited in tense, strident silence. Until the storm ebbed. Until, at night, the first stars blinked awake, and shreds of moonlight cut through the slits in the heavy woolen curtains landing on the yet slumbering form. Until, at last, the darkness made Legolas light the candles by the bed and the fire in the hearth, and a cough finally rumbled forth from the dwarf. Then dark eyes, glazed over with cataracts and weariness, peered at Legolas from behind yet dark eyelashes.

Gimli had always had such beautiful eyes. Deep and brown as fresh soil, warm and kind as a welcoming fire. He, a being of tree boughs and starlight, had never thought he might find belonging in such a gaze. Home, more so than isle or wood. Love, stronger than any he had ever found in any other. Gimli, with the last strength he had, took his hand and gripped it with unexpected vigor. The tenacity of dwarves...

"It is time, my friends," said Gimli, nodding at once at the presence of Mithrandir who sat now beside the chair of Legolas Greenleaf, a solemn expression carved into his aged face. "For it has grown late, and I must...go to the Halls of my Forefathers…"

But it was Mithrandir who spoke, voice weighty and deep. "Is that so, Gimli son of Gloin?"

They both turned to him, and Legolas saw, to his surprise, quicksilver mischief alight in a gaze older than the stars and earth itself. Something blossomed in his chest, something he dared not name on a day so dark, something that should be impossible...

"What have you done, Mithrandir?"

He gave him a solemn nod. "Do you not recall Tuor? I believe you both met him, once. A man said to love elven kind more than his own and the lands which gave him birth. Who abandoned it all for the woman he loved and the folk he so cherished to find a new home across the sea…I merely spoke with the Valar on your behalf, of course."

"That cannot be all."

The dwarf frowned. "They are not so easily swayed."

"Indeed," agreed Mithrandir. "You, however, are given a choice, my dear friends."

"To abandon the Halls for one I have loved...more than my Forefathers or all the gems in deep places where they had dwelt or to join them."

"And, I fear, you must show that you are worthy of such a gift," said Mithrandir. "I do not know, exactly, what it is Lord Ulmo has in mind for us three...but in my experience, such tasks are not so easily accomplished."

"So it is not enough for them-"

Gimli squeezed his hand firmly. "I will take it," said he. "Would you come with me?"

Could he abandon these lands and his people? Could he stand to suffer, again, the sea longing that would touch his heart and his mind once he left these blessed shores?

Did his love for this dwarf run as deep as the sea, as high as the sun? Could he exchange these lands, his people, for him?

That was, he now realized, what had been asked. 

Which did he cherish most?

"I would. I would trade it all away, friend Gimli, to walk by your side, once more," said he. "Until the sun shines not and the moon does not rise, for I have found a jewel of greatest worth..."

He took the dwarf’s large hands in his, tears, like a light drizzle at the dawn of a new day, fell upon them. And yet, Legolas smiled.

"And I choose him gladly,” said Legolas, gazes locked, fingers entwined. “I am with you.”

"And I with you," came the reply with a promise. "As always."

***

On a cold morn, three travelers passed through Avallónë while a few lone stars glistened through the thin veil of mist that laid light over the shining city. They reached the docks, and there they found anchored a white ship, readied by hands unseen long ere they had arrived. A woman, clothed in white, stood upon the shore. With gifts, the dawn greeted the new day, and she was the last to see the remainder of the Fellowship of the Ring in those lands which wither and die not.

And she mourned  _ his  _ passing, also. For many are the love stories that end in heartbreak in the lands of Arda, be they the tales of the greatest of lovers or the truest companions and friends. But a smile graced her lips as a tear was caught and blown afar on a strong and swift wind until, at last, like a gem casted into the deep, it was swallowed by the sea.

**Author's Note:**

> I debated for the longest time if this should be considered a romance or not. Not that they *aren't* in love, but is it romantic? Is it just a very deep but platonic friendship? Either way, it is a deep and abiding love and respect...
> 
> I think, ultimately, which it is is up to the reader. Until the sequel, that is, if it ever gets written.


End file.
